Deception
by Sam Wilde
Summary: At fifteen years old, I was only sure of one thing, getting away from my family. Now I am out in the world, a strange new one that I was always told was evil, not to mention I'm famous. I am meeting new people, facing new, bigger enemies, and falling in love. I don't know who to trust, I've been deceived my entire life. Fem!HarryXDraco. Manipulative Dumbledore. Light!Malfoys.
1. Chapter 1

**HERE IT IS! Chapter one of the rewrite is finally up! I apologize from the cold dark depths of my soul for the wait, my lame excuses are in the end notes. I hope you enjoy it!**

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I lost my birth parents to a terrorist attack in London. They had gone to a party that the company my father worked for hosted, leaving me with a friend. An extremist group came and bombed the building that the party was being held in. No one survived. I was orphaned, and sent to live with my closest relatives, my mother's sister and her husband and son. I was put to work at age three. I did chores, cooked, and did what my uncle told me to. No questions asked. One day, after a visit from my uncle's sister Marge, every mistake I made, no matter how small or insignificant, warranted punishment. At first it was mild. I would get a spanking, and get sent to the backyard, where I would sit on the garden bench and 'think about my actions, and how they shame the family's good name'. Of course, I was never actually considered part of the family, I was just the niece that they were forced by the law to take in, which was why I had to do so much to 'pull my weight', as my uncle put it.

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Things got worse. My uncle lost a promotion just after I turned five and turned to drinking. He came home and yelled. He yelled for what seemed like hours. He cursed too during his tirade. He cursed me, he cursed God, and he cursed his boss. My aunt tried to calm him down, but he told her what happened, and how it was all my fault. She agreed with him. She had hated me since before I was even born. She had told me this ever since I was little. She used to tell me bedtime stories of evil witches and wizards that fought constantly. She always made me recite the phrase: "Magic is evil, it is not real, anyone who believes in magic is crazy, and is also evil." She told me that my parents believed in magic, and that they were crazy and evil, and that they were asking to die. She would leave and come back with a cup of water that smelled funny, and burned as it grated down the sides of my throat.

She hated me, so she sided with him, told him he was right, and that she knew that I was just like my parents, a parasite living off of the success of others. He came to my room, the closet below the stairs. Where most families kept brooms and chemicals and shoes and coats, they kept me. He would come to the door, as he was too fat, and the closet too small for him to walk inside. He pushed his head inside and looked at me with pure hatred and contempt on his squished and wrinkled pink face. He pulled his head out and thrust a short, stubby, thick arm in, his gnarled hand and fat fingers resembling sausage that had been left out to mold for weeks, in shape and color, grabbing for me.

His fingers caught the collar of my baggy shirt in a vice grip. He yanked me out of the closet and threw me on the ground in the wide hallway. He bent over me, the wood floor groaning at the shift in weight. Fingers tangled in my hair, and my scalp felt as if it were being torn off as I was suddenly lifted into the air. I clawed at the arms and hands and fingers that suspended me, but it was useless. A five-year-old girl was no match against an overgrown man.

I was lowered harshly to the ground, my bare heels hitting the hard floor with enough force that I could hear a crack, bone and skin against gravity and wood, and feel searing pain rip through my aching feet, sore from a hard day of yard work. I could feel a warm wet substance burst out of the soft flesh and drip towards my toes. Blood. My uncle's hands shifted as he pressed me viciously to the wall, one leaving my body entirely, but the other trailing down my sunburnt face and on to my neck, distorted and unkempt fingernails scratching the tender skin the entire way. I screamed in pain, but the strangled sound was cut off by fingers squeezing my windpipe closed, the high pitched note of agony ringing out for less than a second before being replaced by a gurgling choking sound.

He spat in my face, the smell and taste of putrid saliva and stale breath invading my senses. I tried to cringe away from the offending substance, and the man who put it there, but I couldn't, my small form pinned to the wall by my throat. I could feel the blood rushing to my skull, and I could feel it turning my face a purplish-reddish color. I could feel myself become lightheaded from lack of oxygen. He was going to kill me. I didn't want to die. I heard Petunia yell, telling Vernon that killing me would just get him sent to jail, get Dudley taken away, and her left without a servant. The hands released me and I fell to the floor, my head hitting the hard surface with a loud crack. A heavy foot stomped on my stomach, and the contents expelled themselves, the acrid taste burning my aching throat as it traveled out of my body and onto the floor. A thick hand struck my cheek and a shout rang through the house, "How dare you dirty this house with your filth! Get your useless ass off the floor and scrub!"

I turned over on my front, and tried to push myself off of the floor, but my arms were too weak to support my body weight. I was on my hands and knees in the middle of the hallway. Vernon kicked me again, sending me sprawling against the door, a trail of bloody vomit in my wake. I somehow managed to push myself up, and I tried to get the front door open so I could get away, but the dizziness had not dissipated yet, and I was almost too weak to stand up. I couldn't get the knob to turn, and I couldn't find the strength to pull the door. I was trapped, destined to die by the hands of the family that was supposed to keep me safe. They had turned me into their slave, and now they were going to kill me. Life has a sense of humor apparently. I passed out.

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I woke up in the garage. It was detached from the house and had always been empty. Vernon believed that the family's car was something that should be on display at all times, so that people could envy their 'wealth'. Petunia believed that if you couldn't keep something in the house or the attic, it should not be kept. I was now the garage's sole occupant. No one ever came in here, Dudley was too lazy to do anything but eat and watch television, Petunia was too much of a germaphobe and a neat-freak to torture herself with all of the dust, and Vernon was always at work. I sat there calling for help, but the thickly insulated walls muffled and distorted the sound until it was blocked entirely, too quiet for anyone to hear. No one would come to my rescue.

I tried to stand, but my legs were too weak, and I was held to the floor by a rusty towing chain nailed to the ground. No doubt Vernon wanted to have somewhere that he could torture me in peace, without having to worry about dirtying the house. My throat ached from my screams, and I was coughing incessantly, flecks of red spraying as the air left my body violently, leaving a morbid and grotesque painting of shining blood on the ground. No one would ever find me. No one would ever witness what they had done to me. I was so tired, so dizzy, I could barely keep my eyes open.

I stopped fighting I gave in.

I woke again to Vernon standing above me, kicking and screaming at me. I instinctively moved to cover my face with my hands, but the chain holding me to the ground prevented me from doing so. I tried so hard to keep from screaming, but the effort was in vain, and I ended up crying out anyway. That earned me a particularly harsh kick in the side of the head, leaving me once again unconscious.

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My life was pretty much the same for the next ten years. I lived in the closet, was "punished" in the garage. At eleven, I was invited to go to a boarding school for the gifted in Scotland, but Petunia and Vernon said that it was a school for freaks and that my attendance was completely out of the question. They sent a letter declining and that was the last we heard of it. I knew that there was no point in arguing with them. Part of me was disappointed, I had never actually been to school before as Vernon and Petunia had been claiming that I was homeschooled so that they didn't have to worry about getting me there or anyone noticing my frequent mysterious injuries. Another part of me was relieved. Because I had never been to school, I had never interacted with other children besides my cousin, and considering the fact that he had been horrible to me my entire life, I hardly considered his brief orders of food or the various insults he constantly shot at me as very good social interaction with another human being. I wasn't worried that I would be made fun of for my obvious educational disadvantage, when I was about seven, I was given the task of completing Dudley's homework. That of course meant that I would have to know what I was doing. I read through all of the books, and completed all of assignments perfectly, ensuring both a perfect grade for Dudley, and an education for me. You know what they say, 'Survival of the Fittest'…

After ten years of surviving the horrendous treatment instilled upon me by my so called 'loving relatives', I knew the rules. There were the little things, like 'speak only when spoken to' and 'do as we say and you can eat'. But the biggest rule was that I was never allowed to leave the house under any circumstance, not even if it were on fire. I suppose that if the house was on fire, I probably wouldn't leave anyway, not even to save my life. After all, if I did somehow make it out alive, it would just be the rest of my life living with the Dursleys. I've often times thought of taking my own life, if not for the sole purpose of being somewhere far away from that house and that family. I understand that suicide is not necessarily the best form of getting that wish to come true, but at some point, it may become my only option.

When I was almost fourteen, I was doing dishes and I noticed that I was alone in the kitchen. Usually Petunia sat at the table drinking awful-smelling tea or reading a book, monitoring me, making sure I did as I was told and that I didn't do anything strange, but today I was alone. I quickly glanced around and sure enough, there was no one to watch me carefully and quietly slip one of the large kitchen knives into the waistband of Dudley's old baggy sweatpants. I quickly finished the dishes and other chores that I was required to accomplish, and went to my room (AKA the closet under the stairs). I pulled out the knife and almost cried, finally I had something useful. This knife was more than just protection, it gave me hope, hope of paradise beyond the darkness in which I lived.

That knife had resided under the tiny, moldy mattress on the floor of my room for a year, just waiting to be used. Thankfully, I was the only one in the house that cooked, so no one ever noticed that it was missing. I hadn't ever brought up the courage to use it against Vernon, knowing that he could easily overpower me, and I hadn't ever been able to muster the nerve it would take to kill myself with it. As often as I entertained the idea, it just never felt right, as if that tiny glimmer of hope that still remained in me was telling me that there was something more out there for me.

For some reason I still continued to believe in that glimmer, even though it seemed as if there was just an endless cycle keeping me chained to the abysmal life I was living. I think part of it is that I knew that I would make it to today, and that kept me going. I smiled as I heard the grandfather clock in the living room chime twelve, and blew out the fifteen dust candles on my dust drawing cake. I stared sadly at the picture for a moment, wondering how many more years this would continue, before smearing the image with my hand and curling up on my mattress.

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**A/N: So I know I said that I would post this three months ago, but I got REALLY bad writers block, I was failing math and I just lost motivation. HOWEVER! I just want to thank everyone who endured the first run of this story, and I really hope you enjoy this one, I like it a lot better than the other one, but that is just my opinion and I'm biased. Seriously guys, I love you so much, thank you for giving me my mojo back!**

**Love ya all!**

**-Sam**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok so I know that this is way later than I said it was, and I'm sorry. School starts soon, and its my freshman year of highschool, and last year I pulled a bunch of crap and got some pretty bad grades, and since it counts on my transcript to get into college this coming year, I'm giving up certain things like Netflix, which is the thing that distracted me the most last year, so I have been scrambling to finish all of the series that I have started, and so I haven't been writing as much as I should... Anyway, I will have you know that I stayed up until five a.m. finishing this for you, so enjoy!**

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A few weeks later I was about to go to sleep when I noticed that one thing was missing from my nightly routine, Vernon had accidentally forgotten to lock the door on my closet. I was shocked, usually he was very adamant that whenever I was inside that the door was to remain locked. The fact that he had forgotten was astonishing. I was terrified and excited all at the same time. I could get out of here, get away from the Dursleys. I could have a real life, a safe life. It felt too good to be true.

I waited until I was absolutely sure that they were asleep. I slid the knife that I had been hiding for a year out from under my mattress, taking a moment and admiring its dull silver gleam, wondering how something that could do so much harm held a look of so much innocence. I gripped the dusty black handle tightly with filthy, chipped nails. I stared at the small door of the closet, butterflies erupting in my stomach. I took in a deep breath and let it out shakily, before slowly turning the rusted handle and pushing it open, painfully aware of every single creak, the sound magnified in my nervousness. I stared anxiously down the long hall at the shiny white door that would lead to my freedom. I began to walk at a painstakingly slow pace, my legs and feet aching with every labored step I took.

I finally reached the door and hesitantly, my hand found the deadbolt. My fingers trembled as they struggled to turn the lock. I then grabbed the doorknob and turned, a small grin forming on my face. I pulled the door open and tentatively stepped out into the cool August air. I began walking quickly away from the house, not even bothering to close the door, I had made it too far to get caught now.

It was pitch black outside, the only light came from the few dim streetlights scattered sparsely along the road. I crossed the street with a giddy confidence, I was going to make it, I was going to get out of here, and I was never going to come back. I slowly made my way through the neighborhood, eager to get as far away from the Dursleys as quickly as possible. I glanced at the other houses, windows dark, curtains closed, keeping their residents safe from the outside world. I envied those people, sleeping snugly in their warm beds, dreaming peaceful dreams, completely oblivious to what had been happening in the home of a trusted neighbor.

As I left the neighborhood, I looked over my shoulder briefly before crossing the empty street. Never again would I come back here, not even if my life depended on it. I was in the clear, the shimmering lights of London twinkling in the distance. I was drawn towards them, as if they were calling to me. I began walking towards them, an anxious feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as they got closer. As I approached, the buildings got bigger, and there were more people. At first no one noticed me, but as I got further into the city, I could see some people slowing down when they saw me, but they kept on walking.

I was very confused when I heard someone shout. I looked around curiously and saw lots of people stopped on the sidewalk. I could somewhat make out their individual shapes, squinting to focus on them. People were pointing at me with strange expressions on their blurry faces. They didn't seem angry, they seemed almost… upset. Petunia had always shouted like that when I hadn't done something right, but the way these people were, it was different, and it was starting to scare me. Some people started to get close to me. They had the same look on their face that Vernon did whenever he "punished me".

I backed up quickly, raising the knife from my side and waving it around. Suddenly I heard a strange noise, like the ones I had heard when I had entered the city, but louder, much louder. I covered my ears with my hands, doing my best to keep a firm grip on the knife clutched desperately in my fingers. I turned towards the noise, only to be knocked off my feet by a heavy object ramming into my weak legs. I fell to the ground, the knife tumbling out of my hand, and out of reach. My head hit the pavement, and I could see large blurry dots of color running around me before my vision spotted and grew black around the edges. I felt a hand on my forehead, brushing my tangled black hair away from my face. There was shouting, but I couldn't make out what was being said, my head hurt too much, and my legs were tired and aching, I decided that I wasn't going to fight sleep anymore, and I closed my eyes.

I awoke briefly, only to be greeted by more shouting, more people and more loud noises. There was an addition of flashing lights. I could vaguely make out the faces of the people shuffling around me, they seemed concerned. I had no idea why they looked so worried, maybe it had to do with that loud sound I had heard. I felt myself being lifted, and I was startled. Instinctively, I moved to cover my face with my arms, frightened by the sudden, painfully familiar action, but I could not move them, they felt too heavy, and it hurt too much to try to move. My head ached, and my ears were ringing, and I scrunched my eyes closed, trying to dull the pain erupting behind my eyes. Once the pain had subsided, I attempted to open them again. Bad idea. Apparently I had blacked out because when I had finally managed to crack my eyelids apart, I was blinded by a harsh white light. My ears filled with the sounds around me and the ringing had stopped.

There was a lot of annoying beeping and it was really starting to bother me. I tried to move my arms to support myself so I could sit up, but there was something holding my wrists to the stiff mattress I was laying on. I found my legs to be in a similar position. I started to panic, I had to wonder if I was back at the Dursley's, however, that didn't explain all of the beeping and bright white all around me. I began to thrash around, trying to free myself. I started crying, I had just gotten free from that place, and now I was back. I had no idea when or how they had caught me. The beeping had gotten louder and faster, and there were people running around me, shouting at each other. There was a sharp pain in my neck, and I felt my limbs go numb, and my eyelids grew heavy. I began drifting out of consciousness, still unaware and curious of what had happened to me.

I woke up to the same blinding whiteness as before, slightly calmer this time. I tried to stay calm as I tried to figure out what was going on. I remembered getting out of the Dursley's house, and making it to London, then I remembered getting scared and getting hit by something big, then I woke up here.

Someone came over to me and looked down at me. It was a woman with a kind face, dark brown hair, and light gray eyes, kind of a silvery color. She smiled at me and put her hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the touch, and the action hurt my arms and legs. I realized that they were still bound to the bed I was in. I blinked at the woman. "My name is Dr. Olsen, you were hit by a car about an hour ago. You have several broken bones, the most severe being in your legs. You also have a minor concussion. But you are safe now. I am glad to see that you are awake." So that's what happened. I was still confused. "You were found a few blocks into the city with a knife in your hand, looking very confused and frightened, do you remember?" I nodded, figuring that answering her questions would help me stay safe. "Do you know where you are?" I shook my head, 'Finally,' I thought, I was getting answers that were actually helpful. "You are at St. Mary's hospital in London. Can you tell me your name?" My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and I spoke for the first time in a long time, my voice shaking and raspy. "I don't have a name."

Dr. Olsen looked affronted at my answer. Her smile faltered, but it was immediately replaced by another one. "I will be right back," she said, patting my arm again, much to my disliking. I was astonished that she was so nice to me, no one had ever been nice to me before. Granted, I had never been away from Number 4, so there was that.

Dr. Olsen came back with another person, this one a man. He was taller than the woman beside him, but not too much, not enough to be threatening. Like Dr. Olsen, he looked kind, and I felt I could trust him. The pair walked over to me slowly. The man spoke first. "Hello there. My name is Arthur Kirkland, I'm a social worker here at the hospital." I tried to manage a smile, they were being nice to me, the least I could do was try to be nice. "Hello," I said, figuring I was supposed to say it as well. Arthur smiled at me and spoke again. "I've been told that you looked like you've had a rough time leading up to you getting here." He was handed a file by Dr. Olsen. "Let's see," he said, flipping through the pages. "You have multiple broken bones, your legs, both upper and lower, your knees, those are from the car. This is where we are worried, you have many breaks in other parts of your body, some that didn't heal properly and some that are more recent. Judging by how much some of these had healed, they are several years old, the earliest one from about ten years ago. Do you know how old you are?" I replied shyly, "My birthday was a couple weeks ago, on the thirty first, at least that's the day I picked. I turned 15 I think."

Arthur looked at me curiously, "And you don't know your name?" I shook my head, and Arthur looked surprised. "I don't have one," I corrected him, the Dursleys never called me anything. Whenever they wanted me to do something they just looked at me and told me to do it, I knew they were talking to me because Dudley never had to do anything, so they wouldn't ask him. "Right," Arthur said, smiling once more. "Do you have a name that you would like us to call you, because Jane Doe #2447 doesn't really suit a young lady like you. You don't have to pick right away, I can give you some time to think about it, but I think that you should have one. I'm going to go now, I have to take care of some paperwork, but I will see you tomorrow, alright?" I nodded, not really paying attention. I was going to have a name, no longer would I just be 'girl' or 'you'. I was going to have my own name, all to myself.

After Arthur left, Dr. Olsen pulled a chair up beside my bed. "Do you have any names in mind?" There was one name that I had always particularly liked. I had read a story about it in one of Dudley's schoolbooks, it was about a beautiful young woman who was in charge of raising the moon in the sky at night. She was a goddess, and everyone loved her. She had always been my hero, my hope. I wanted her name, I wanted to be like her, loved by everyone. That was the name that I would choose. "I have one." I said to Dr. Olsen. She looked over at me with intrigue. "What name would you like?" I smiled shyly. "I want my name to be Artemis, like the goddess, she is my hero, she was my favorite story." Dr. Olsen smiled, "That is a lovely name, it suits you well."

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**A/N: So I have to change the summary now, I'm sorry if it turns out crappy, but I got the idea for her not knowing her name (or in this case believing she doesn't have one) as I was writing the beginning of the chapter, I had been thinking of changing her name and didn't know how to do it. In regards to the last name, I have no idea what I'm going to do, so if anyone has any good suggestions please review, and I'll choose one that I like. Please don't list Potter, I am not doing it. I relocated the Dursleys to just outside London. Please forgive me, I am an American, I have no knowledge of the geography of any other country besides my own, so I am sorry if the unexplained relocation confused anyone. Also, I chose Artemis because she is my favorite Greek/Roman god/goddess and honestly I just like the way it sounds. I realize that I could have done a more modern name, even going so little as to use her Roman name Diana, but I liked it, and my backstory of her reading it while doing Dudley's homework made it fit. Please give me surnames! I have none to give her!**

**Love ya guys!**

**~Sam**


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